Seekers of Nazar

Twenty-Three

Demetria was used to the bell clanging in the wind, a phantom sound that she had learned to ignore. Instead, she concentrated on the chickens and goats settling in for the night. Dusk was her favorite time to sit in the garden. She longed for summer when the fireflies would blink in and out among the flowers. This time of year, there were no insects. They had already had their first snow, a blizzard no less. But in place of fireflies, she watched the stars begin to reveal themselves in the darkening sky.

As she sat enjoying the evening, her mind drifted to the disturbances in the pattern. They were growing louder. The energy in the strange weather patterns kept surging over her like tidal waves. What she couldn't understand, no matter how often she turned it over in her mind, was why Lysander had let it go on so long. Clearly, a Weaver had discovered the truth. There was no other explanation. It was a secret Lysander was willing to die for, or kill for, so why in the pattern was she waiting? Demetria huffed to herself and leaned on her cane to stand up. It was time to go back inside for a bit of tea and bread with honey. The truth was that none of it, not a single bit, was her responsibility anymore. She was here, settled into exactly the life she wanted. Nazar was long ago. She didn't give a flip what Lysander did.

A thought stopped her. Unless Lysander thought that Demetria had something to do with it? Surely, after all this time, she knew better. As she turned to go inside, she heard it again - the incessant clanging of the bell.

She considered ignoring it but changed her mind. She wouldn't be able to sleep peacefully for the night until she shooed away whoever was making all the noise.

She walked along the side yard of the manor to the front. The entrance had crumbled into the courtyard long ago, where a broken fountain collected leaves and debris instead of water. Fortunately, the stout walls surrounding the entire estate were as sturdy as the day they were built. Although the main gate sat in ruins, there was still a functioning side door with a bell on it. She had been meaning to dismantle it for years but hadn't gotten around to it.

She hesitated, smoothing the fraying edges of her robe. Out of habit, she closed her eyes to make sure her spinning globe of energy was at the ready.

The door creaked loudly in the still air, revealing three disheveled travelers. Each led a weary horse covered in thick, ashy mud. Their cheeks were hollow, and they all had a distinctly unpleasant smell.

Demetria wrinkled her nose.

A middle-aged man, taller than the rest, was wearing the traveling clothes of the local villages. He almost convinced her he was one of them until she noticed the polished broad sword strapped to his back.

Her eyes narrowed.

The woman next to him was dark-skinned and dark-haired, she stood almost as tall as he did. Her skirt was ripped in several places at the bottom. Although she was dressed like a villager too, there was something haughty in the way she held herself.

Next to them stood a young girl with sun-bleached hair, tan skin, and freckles on her nose and cheeks. She didn't look like their offspring one bit. The girl had a mountain lion of all things attached to her hip.

"We aren't accepting travelers or visitors of any kind," she said unceremoniously and went to slam the door.

The woman held out her hand to catch it. "Wait, if you could just let us in for one night, we will be no trouble at all. We are just lost travelers who need a bit of food and water to be on our way."

Not a single word sounded true coming from her mouth. Demetria felt her power instinctively gathering around her. She siphoned off the tiniest sliver and began weaving it around the three, just in case.